


how Christmas goes

by Areiton



Category: Captain America (Movies), Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Christmas Fluff, Christmas Tree, Domestic Avengers, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, M/M, POV Second Person, Parent Tony Stark, Protective Bucky Barnes, Sex, Tony Stark Acting as Peter Parker's Parental Figure
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-25
Updated: 2020-12-25
Packaged: 2021-03-10 17:27:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 776
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28320876
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Areiton/pseuds/Areiton
Summary: This is how Christmas goes, now:Christmas morning dawns bright and lovely, with a sleepy kiss and you curl into him, into a broad chest and steady hands and a soft, reverent, “Good morning, sweetheart.”
Relationships: Steve Rogers/Tony Stark
Comments: 5
Kudos: 108





	how Christmas goes

This is how Christmas goes, now: 

On Christmas Eve, the Avengers fill the lake house, loud and rowdy, too many bodies crammed into too small a space. You’re shoved on the couch, Peter pressed along your side, and Morgan on your lap. Nebula is close by, her gaze heavy and protective because even now, even here surrounded by your family and safe, she worries. 

She watched you almost die, twice, and the only one more protective of you than her is Rhodey, who wraps an arm around her shoulders and draws her attention away because he’s always known exactly what you want and need, and Nebula deserves to relax, tonight. 

It’s loud and there’s too much food and presents showered on Morgan because your the richest man in the world, but her aunts and uncles have never missed a chance to spoil her. 

There are cookies and spiked eggnog and Nebula gives you a sweater that pools over your wrists and Peter gives you a tiny spider bot that crawls up your sweater and settles in your ear and Karen murmurs, “Hello, Mr. Stark. Peter’s vitals are looking lovely tonight.” 

Christmas Eve is busy and loud and everything you never had, when you were growing up, when they were photo ops on good years and lonely cold nights in an empty mansion on the bad ones. 

This is how Christmas goes, now: 

Christmas morning dawns bright and lovely, with a sleepy kiss and you curl into him, into a broad chest and steady hands and a soft, reverent, “Good morning, sweetheart.” 

You smile up at Steve, soft in the morning light, and beyond your door you can hear Peter and Morgan, can smell the scent of bacon and coffee, but for just this moment, you’re held in his arms and washed in love, and you curl closer and kiss his throat, just to feel him shudder against you. 

“Merry Christmas, beloved.” 

He smiles and kisses you and you melt into it, into him and the joy that fills you up every day, now. 

This is how Christmas goes, now: 

You come into the kitchen, and Bucky is there, making bacon and sliding coffee to you with a grin, and you steal a cinnamon roll from the pan he’s left just within your reach, and he makes a low growl, batting at you with a metal hand that gleams dark and golden. Steve smacks him on the back of the head, and they scuffle, while you sip your coffee and Peter ambles up, rubbing his eyes. 

There’s a mess of presents and coffee and sticky buns. It’s laughter and Steve’s arm around your shoulders. It’s Peter and Morgan piecing together a robot and FRIDAY’s snark filling up the spaces your kids don’t. It’s watching Bucky unwrapping a painting while Steve preens at your side, and a leather jacket stretched over Steve’s broad shoulders and a delicate bracelet on your wrist that gleams with your colors and Steve’s both. 

This is how Christmas goes, now: 

They drift away. 

Peter with a wave, to go to dinner with May and MJ. 

Morgan, with dragging feet and a big smile for Pepper, to spend the rest of the year on a private island in the Maldives. 

Bucky, whistling, to curl in Sam’s warm arms and his family’s embrace. 

They drift away, and there’s an ache in you, that you recognize, because this empty quiet house is something you remember, something you recognize from all the years you spent alone. 

This is how Christmas goes, now: 

In the quiet empty house, there is a brightly lit Christmas tree, and scattered paper that Steve scoops up and shoves in boxes, and music crooning softly, until he draws you close, wraps you in strong arms and sways with you. 

There’s firelight dancing in his eyes, and so much love you can barely breath through it, and you press close, until there’s nothing but you and him, bare skin and bruising hands, his mouth hot and wet against your skin, sucking bruises into your skin and his ring is a thin metal reminder that even when everything else drifts away--there is this, there is him, and you. 

He lays you out on the rug by the firelight and the treelight and breathes your name when he pushes inside and there’s nothing empty and quiet, there’s only Steve, kissing you, and love, burning so bright it’s blinding, and joy, so overwhelming, you sob with it.

This is how Christmas goes, now--

There is everything, quiet and near sleep, in his arms, and his lips brush against your hair, and he whispers, “Merry Christmas, sweetheart.” 


End file.
